Previously: Lawson and Drusilla have slept together; Faith’s told Giles and Wesley the contents of her dreams and what she saw in the trance state; Giles has realized he’s in love with Anya; and Dawn has attempted suicide. This picks up immediately after the previous installment.

Book two. Chapter 47. Grief’s best music

In the hour of adversity be not without hope,
For crystal rain falls from black clouds.
Nizami Ganjavi, Azeri poet and philosopher, 1141 - c.1209

Hope, like the gleaming taper's light,
Adorns and cheers our way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
Oliver Goldsmith

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
Richard III, act v, scene ii

Hope is grief's best music.
Author Unknown

There is no hope unmingled with fear,
and no fear unmingled with hope.
Baruch Spinoza




The instant the door was closed, the alpha male lifted his nose from atop his paws, growling lowly in his throat. His hackles rose, and his sudden alertness communicated itself through the pack, waking them all in order of standing. The female, his mate, stood up, the mated alpha pair calmly waiting side by side, waiting for the Huntsman’s signal. The younger males, impatient and anxious for the hunt growled in concert, begging for permission to move, to isolate their prey. . . .

But permission from the Huntsman never came, beyond the single word command, “track”.

The russet-coated female moved forward, snapping at two of the younger hounds, whelps from her first litter, and with a vicious nip at their hind quarters, she took off.

Hesitating for just a moment, the marked two swung their large heads back, looking for permission from both the Huntsman and the alpha male. Two low growls, sounding remarkably similar, sounded from other-than-human and canine throats, sending the pair on their way.

Marking the scent of the redheaded witch, the trio followed, their presence blithely ignored.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike held onto Dawn, his right arm wrapped loosely around her waist, his left hand constantly slapping against her cheek, in a vain effort to wake her up. He kept up a constant stream of admonitions – her name – interspersed with pleadings for her to wake up and talk to him.

Buffy stumbled from the bathroom, scrambling almost on her hands and feet, to get to the phone in her room. He could hear her babbling into the phone, the strain in her voice clear.

The baby started crying and Buffy appeared in the bathroom doorway, a blank look on her face. Spike looked up at her and ached to take her in his arms comforting her, but his focus had to be on Dawn.

“Get dressed.” Buffy shook her head, coming further into the small bathroom. “You’re gonna have to get dressed so you can go with her.”

Instead Buffy crouched in front of them, a hand covering his, the other resting on Dawn’s leg. She squeezed the hand on Dawn’s thigh, her voice quavering. “C’mon Dawnie, wake up for me, please. . . . Please Dawnie.”

Anguish filled her voice and Buffy finally met Spike’s eyes. “Spike?”

“I know.” He stared at her, his eyes roving over her face. “Go get dressed and get the sprog.”

A door creaked open in the hallway and Kirsten appeared in the doorway, sleepily disheveled. Understanding came swiftly and she merely said “shit” then “I’ll get the baby.”

Suiting action to words, Kirsten did just that.

“Go on, get dressed. You’re gonna have to go with her to hospital.” Spike’s voice was soft, barely a whisper between them.

“Don’t let her go.” Buffy stared back into his eyes, tears brimming. “I’ll be right back.”

She scrambled to her feet and as she reached the doorway, his ears picked up the faint sounds of sirens, he said, “better get the door, too, kitten.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonathan Levinson was ridiculously easy to find, once they decided to locate him. For some strange reason, Anya had all his information stored at the shop, from phone numbers to address. Giles got him at the third number – his dorm – and Jonathan agreed to meet them at the shop later in the day.

In the meantime, Faith had finished writing down every detail of her most recent dream, backtracking now writing down the others, specifically the most ones which had prompted her trip to Sunnydale. Wesley was researching ways to reverse the spell and Giles was looking up Aurelian vampires. Anya was dusting shelves, checking and double-checking inventory while keeping an eye trained on Faith.

It was obvious to Giles there was little love between the two women, and while he was grateful for Anya’s vigilance, her short temper was beginning to wear on him. Her grumbling and grousing about the shop and what was extremely valuable kept distracting him. Or maybe that was her perfume. He couldn’t actually decide what was worse, the grumbling or the scent.

Pulling another volume on Aurelians off the shelf, Giles intercepted Anya on her way into the back. “Anya, please stop whinging on about the situation.”

She hissed at him, an angry look on her face. “She’s not trustworthy. She’s probably going to switch bodies or steal our identities and ruin everything. I can’t allow her to control any part of my life.”

“Really, Anya, must you? She’s hardly going to switch bodies with Wesley or I and I doubt seriously she’s going to harm any of us.” Giles grabbed her arm, peering down into her eyes. “I doubt helping any of us would be her first choice unless she has changed.” He paused once more, saying in a much softer tone, “we have to start trusting her sometime.”

“I still don’t think its very smart.” Her face had softened, responding to his expression. She smiled up at him prettily. “But I trust you, so I’ll try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant was barely occupied when they got there, the morning rush long since over and the afternoon rush about to start. Willow dragged her girlfriend in by the hand, her excitement communicating itself easily to the other girl. Determined not to let thoughts of the spell spoil her mood, Willow plastered on a happy face and pushed aside any worries she might have. Besides, Tara was actually smiling and laughing, something Willow hadn’t seen her do in so long, not since before . . . . well, almost before the mess with Glory.

Not going to think about any of the bad stuff. Gonna ignore it all, pretend its not there. Just gonna spend the day with my girlfriend . . . . .

Sunlight was glinting off Tara’s dark blond hair and Willow was mesmerized by the sight. It had been so long since she’d been able to just look at her and for a moment, tears filled her eyes. She missed Tara so, while they’d been apart, Willow was willing to do anything in her power to keep them together. . . . but not thinking about that now. Thinking good thoughts. About how we are here, eating pancakes together, no fighting or anything.

Tara was watching the guy at the next table, who was struggling to eat a huge pancake that poofed out over the plate, standing almost eye-level. The guy was chowing down, and had the thing almost finished before Willow even realized Tara’s attention kept wandering.

“Hey baby, what’s so funny?”

Leaning forward a bit, so their faces were very close, Tara whispered, “watch his face. It‘s
so cute. He looks like a little kid.”

Stealing a glance over, Willow saw what had caught Tara’s eye. The pancake was this huge monstrosity of a thing, poofed up and about two feet high. Everyone at his table was laughing at him, but the guy had this look – it was Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one – and neither of them could stop their own giggles.

“Want one of those?”

Willow laughed again, shaking her head, answering, “I don’t think the two of us together could eat that much pancake.”

Tara frowned a little, then brightened her smile. “Would be fun trying though.”

Shaking her head again, Willow caught a glimpse of a pair of big dogs watching the restaurant. They were huge, almost all black, but what held her attention were the weird red spots on their coats. The spots weren’t noticeable, until they moved, showing up only in the sunlight. Willow hesitated, when the dogs got up and stretched, one of them almost looking right at her. A flicker of fear stole through her, but Tara was talking and Willow shook it off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel had heard them.

It was impossible to disguise when Drusilla decided to let herself go and really indulge. Apparently she’d taken a fancy to Lawson – or at least – he’d presented an interesting puzzle for her.

Drusilla had a penchant for the new – for novelty, and she’d always been unable to resist whenever she was face to face with novel temptation. Not that she ever resisted much temptation at all. Hell, it had been what drew her to William in the first place. . . . though that had been a mistake from the beginning, at least in his opinion.

He’d almost expected Drusilla to take up with Jenner and not Lawson, but should’ve known she’d pick the former naval officer.

There was something off about Lawson, something he couldn’t quite grasp about his last childe. Not that he felt like taking the time to figure it out. No, he had other, more important things to worry over.

Like where the witch was.

He’d played around with the Slayer and her people long enough. Granted, he’d allowed himself the indulgence of playing, Cordelia’s capture proving a more than adequate distraction. Now she was once more out of his control, he needed to focus.

Right now, his focus had to be on Willow.

Either turn her or leave her broken body on the Slayer’s steps as a message, somehow he needed to neutralize her completely.

Watching Drusilla leave Lawson’s room from the shadows, Angel contemplated his options. He could turn the witch, binding her power to him for as long as they existed; or kill her outright. . . . Losing all that power. . . . .

“Drusilla.”

Perhaps she could be sweet-talked into a vision, or at least some sort of counsel. More than likely she’d be unhappy sharing the spotlight as his link to the future. “Come here Dru.”

Without missing a beat or worried about being caught leaving Lawson’s room, Drusilla practically danced across the floor in his direction. She was a vision in black and crimson, long trailing sleeves dipping and swaying with each sinuous step.

“Hello Daddy. . . . did you sleep well?”

Her smile was wickedly innocent and feline content graced her features. Angel’s answering grin was a bit more feral, though Drusilla ignored the angry glint. “Question should be how did you sleep?”

His fey childe threw her head back in dark laughter. “Silly Daddy. . . . you know I didn’t sleep a wink.” She giggled again, slyly watching him from the corners of her eyes. “Your baby girl was naughty, stayed up all night. . . . perhaps she should be punished. . . “

She laughed again, seeing the brief flash of interest sneak over his features.

“Oh, but I’m sure you enjoyed yourself.” He couldn’t resist the remark, not when he could clearly smell just how thoroughly she had enjoyed her morning’s activities.

“You could have joined us.” A long finger traced along his jawline, the mingled scents of her and Lawson assaulting his nose.

“I don’t like to share Dru. . . . you know that.” He made a face, pushing away her hand, playfully slapping her ass.

She laughed again, circling around his seated body, draping her arms over his shoulders, dangling her hands in front of his chest. “Oh now, you know you’re lying. . . “ Drusilla nipped his ear, grazing fangs along his neck. “You just don’t like when you can’t be the one to pick who you’re sharing with.”

A grin split his features; here was the opening he’d been waiting for. “I’ve been thinking about sharing, especially lately. How do you feel about a little sister?”

Pretending to consider his words, Dru slid her hands down his sides, long nails, dragging lightly over his skin. “Daddy wants to find the dark seer?”

“A replacement.” He shifted away from her mouth, intent for once, on her thoughts.

“Another little girl?” Dru froze as Willow’s face flashed in her mind, distorted by fangs and ridges, then shuddered. “Not a nice little girl, not one to likely to share, Daddy.”

Getting to her feet, moving away from Angel, Drusilla let the lullabies of her childhood fill her head. Dipping and swaying to a haunting melody only she heard, Drusilla allowed the visions to come forth. “Blood and ashes. . . . skin and bones. . . little red hides behind a mask. . . . darkness breeds and coils . . . Baying hounds, trailing, tracking. . . . Dark hands she has. . . . “

Angel watched her with concern, trying to make sense of her mutterings, with little luck. Nothing she said made much sense, it never really had. Spike always understood her, or at least knew how to cajole her enough to get her to explain further. Not that Spike’s presence would do any good at the moment.

Resigning himself to having to ask Drusilla to explain everything, Angel settled in for a long afternoon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’d actually caught a break; the paramedics responding to the call knew both of them; on more than one occasion, they’d made it away from an accident site because of a timely intervention from either one or both of the blondes.

Buffy met them at the door, surprised to see Karl and Rob, although she was quickly grateful when they both told her they would do everything they could.

And they were true to their word. Dawn was strapped in, an IV drip inserted before Spike was finished dressing. By the time Buffy was tying her sneakers, they had Dawn out of the bathroom and in the hallway.

Kirsten had a now quiet Connor in her arms, her features drawn and tearstained, watching the paramedics working efficiently on Dawn.

Spike walked past her, pulling on a shirt when he caught a glimpse of her expression. “Not your fault, princess.”

She glanced up at him, a sad look on her face. “I know. I should’ve watched better though.”

He was shaking his head. “Not you too. Buffy’s blaming herself f’r all this, tellin’ you what I’m tellin’ her. ‘S not your fault. Niblet’s been low since. . . well, long time now. ‘S nothin’ to do with anyone but herself.” Spike shook his head. “Girl needs time.”

Moving past her, he squeezed her shoulder, then realized something. “Gonna need you to stay put with the sprog. Will you do that?”

She answered him without thinking, then blushed darkly. “Yeah, sure Daddy.”

“Keep that quiet.” He shook his head, heading for the stairs and Buffy.

He found her at the bottom of the stairs, silently watching the paramedics load Dawn into the back of the ambulance. Spike touched her shoulder, jolting her back to herself. “Go with them, I’ll meet you at hospital.”

“I can’t. . . . I can’t go.” She refused to look at him, tears sliding unchecked down her cheeks.

“Yeah you can. I’ll be there just after. Kirsten’s gonna stay with the sprog. Everythin’ ‘ll be fine. Go on now.” He nudged her toward the door, unmindful of the sunlight.

“Promise you’ll be there?” Buffy looked up at him then and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks.

“Right behind you. Go on.” He pushed her again and she ran from the house, jumping up lightly into the back of the ambulance. Karl slammed the doors behind her and Spike watched as the ambulance took off.

Closing the door, he turned around, heading right for the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jonathan was right on time, arriving at the Magic Box promptly at three. He was wary, tentatively unsure of why Giles had called him, concerned there were problems with the website designs, or glitches in the forms, anything other than what he was asked.

It was typically Anya who jumped right to the heart of the matter, getting him at the doorway. “Hello Jonathan. We need to pick your brain. Not in the literal sense like a Eusi’ty’k demon, but we need to know everything you know about that spell you cast.”

“Anya, please. Hello Jonathan.” Giles motioned the visibly taken-aback young man forward, toward the research table. “While I prefer to ask your assistance in this, Anya is quite correct. We do need to know exactly what you did regarding that spell you cast a couple of years ago.”

“You need my expertise?” Jonathan was more than shaken, he was floored. The most renown demon hunter, aside from Buffy, wanted his expertise. Standing tall at his less than considerable height, Jonathan glanced from one set of features to another. “You’re serious?”

For the first time since he’d walked into the shop, the other man spoke, one Jonathan vaguely remembered as seeing before, although he couldn’t recall his name. “Rather.”

A look passed between the two men, one Jonathan couldn’t interpret and he didn’t make the attempt. Shrugging away his confusion, he asked, “what is it you want to know?”

Wesley pulled out a chair, motioning Jonathan to sit, then taking one for himself, replied, “why don’t you start at the very beginning and I’ll just take notes.”

Faith grabbed Giles before he got all involved in the discussion, motioning toward the training room; when she got his silent permission, she moved quickly in that direction, the slayer allergy to research apparently not an inherited trait.

Before she’d thrown her first punch, the males were all knee-deep in their discussion, effectively ignoring the two females.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gathering things he thought Dawn and Buffy might need, Spike rifled through Buffy’s dresser drawers, frustrated when he couldn’t find anything he wanted, just his own things. “Bloody fuckin’ hell!”

Slamming shut another drawer, Spike spewed venomous words at the thin air. “Fuck!”

Kirsten stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to him stomp and curse, the occasional thump of something hitting the wall indicating his temper wasn’t in any danger of going away anytime soon. Connor was staring at her, as if trying to figure out who she was, or why she was here and Kirsten found herself babbling out loud to him. “I know this is crazy, I shouldn’t even be here yet and its just . . . . okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have come back, but you know I did the right thing, even if they are mad at me. It’d be worse if Dawnie were gone. . . . Mom would be completely out of her mind and Daddy’d be. . . . Daddy would‘ve taken off and he’d be gone for a while and Mom would get worse and it’d be all messed up and . . . “

Her voice ended in a trailed off sob and Kirsten held onto the baby tighter, afraid to say anything else. The baby, as if understanding why suddenly there were tears falling onto his face, reached up a hand, tiny fingers pinching Kirsten’s lips closed, putting a stop to the flow of words coming from her mouth.

She sobbed a bit, holding onto Connor tightly, heavy tears falling from her eyes, softly whispered words emerging. “I had to come back. I had to.”

Spike stomped down the stairs, having heard nearly every word, staring at the two of them. Noting the tears falling from Kirsten’s eyes, and the sorrowful look on her face, he decided against questioning her about what she’d just blubbered about. “Princess?”

“I had to Daddy. Please don’t be mad at me.” She hung back, afraid he was about to lash out and verbally flay her, for the incredible risk she’d taken.

He nodded, unsure of what exactly to say. Kirsten had taken a risk, but now, afer overhearing her wail at the infant, he wondered what else had gotten all buggered when Dawn hadn’t survived. And he couldn’t yell at her, couldn’t be the cause of any more tears. “C’mere princess.”

His arms opened, the bundle of clothes falling to the floor beside him, and Kirsten slipped easily into his arms with a soft cry, the baby cuddled between them.

Neither one of them spoke for long minutes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jenner listened to Hawkins’ report on Angel’s activities, and those staying under his roof, curiosity about Drusilla’s behavior peaking his interest. Why would she spend the better part of the morning having sex with a relative fledge when her precious Angel was just within reach . . . . Although the fledge – Lawson – was a direct childe of Angel, he lacked the instinct to become a full master, which was again something to note. So few Aurelians didn’t attain master status that it was notable which ones didn’t.

Although Hawkins also reported that Lawson had sent cannon fodder to gauge the Slayer’s people, holding back, completely unobserved. Tracking them to hospital after Angel’s misguided attack on one of the Slayer’s people – rumor had it the Slayer’s sister – keeping either side unaware of his presence, and escaping unscathed spoke more to Lawson’s intelligence and training than he’d thought the fledgling capable of on first meeting.

For a long minute Jenner stared at his best re-con man, almost disbelieving what he heard. Lawson’s tactics were straight out of William’s methods.

That was unexpected.

This fledge acted more like William then Angel, and yet by all accounts Angel was his sire. Jenner placed the floor, half-listening to the speculations of his other men.

He had to admire the intelligence of copying William’s moves; although he had to wonder when and how he’d learned to do so. By all previous stories, this fledge had been turned, and pretty much disappeared, leaving everyone to speculate Spike had let him flounder or killed him outright. How he’d managed to remain underground in a vampire society for so long astounded Jenner. It denoted an intelligence level that hadn’t been displayed since William’s turning, although Spike had been a bit more brash and far more determined to make his mark as a vampire of notoriety.

Spike was one of the few vampires, even his fellow Aurelians that Jenner actually respected, despite their past and more importantly, despite his liaison with Drusilla.

Perhaps it was time to reveal his presence. . . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost like being on a real date, something they’d never really done. Their relationship, when it started, had taken both of them by surprise, and they’d kind of skipped certain things. But now, here they were, holding hands and walking through the open air mall, window shopping and just being together.

Willow spotted something in a shop window, and the two headed inside, intent on the jewelry display.

This time, neither one of them noticed the silent hounds padding behind them, nor did they notice the single one that left the others, heading back in the opposite direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Buffy found herself in the emergency room waiting for word on her sister, hoping that she’d make it through this latest crisis. This time however, she was alone, at least for now. Spike promised her he’d be there as soon as possible, and despite knowing he was forced to travel through the sewers in order to get there, she kept flicking her eyes to the clock.

They hadn’t been at the hospital long, barely an hour having past since they arrived. Bypassing the normal procedures, the paramedics had wheeled Dawn directly into the last room, the same room from last night. Only now, there was no sympathetic mom-type nurse, nor was Spike hovering just outside the room, and neither was anyone else just beyond the waiting room doors.

She was alone.

Dawn . . . . Buffy sat in the chair opposite the gurney holding her sister, head in her hands, unable to lift her eyes to look at her. Dawn was still unconscious, two IV lines pumping blood and other fluids into her system, in an effort to counter-act the half bottle of OxyContin she’d swallowed. Everything they’d pumped into her had stabilized her condition and the attending ER physician decided it would be best for her to come out of the drugged stupor on her body’s schedule.

According to the doctors, her blood gases were stable, her hemoglobin was getting better and her neural responses were climbing. . . All of which made no sense at all to Buffy.

Not much was making sense.

A nurse was standing beside Dawn, checking her vitals, watching for any change, but she studiously avoided speaking to Buffy. The tiny blond was curled up, hunched over, head nearly touching her knees, body screaming with unexpressed emotional pain. Venturing close, the nurse started to reach out a hand when Buffy, sensing her nearby, lifted her head. “She’s resting comfortably. I’m just gonna go check on getting her a room and then I’ll be right back.”

“A room?” Buffy stared up at her, more than a little dazed.

“Standard procedure to keep all suicide attempts twenty-four hours for observation. As soon as we have a room, she’ll be moved upstairs.”

There was a sympathetic look in the other woman’s eyes, but Buffy barely registered the emotion. “No. She’s not. . . when she wakes up, I’m taking her home.”

“Those are state laws, not hospital regulations. She has to stay.”

But Buffy was shaking her head in denial. “No. No. She’s coming home.”

“Look, let me get the doctor to explain this to you.”

With a quick flurry, she was gone.

Staring at the still figure on the gurney, Buffy tried to understand why Dawn would do something like this. . . why she would want to take this way out. .. Without conscious thought Buffy found herself getting to her feet, standing beside her sister. Wrapping shaking arms around her middle, Buffy fought the tremors and sobs building in her throat. This was her worst nightmare, having everyone she loved leave her. This was hard – too hard.

“I can’t do this Dawnie. You need to wake up. You have to be safe. You have to wake up.”

Buffy moved her hand, almost to touch the still form of her sister, then changed her mind. Instead her hand covered the sobs emerging from her mouth, hiding them from the world. Have to be strong. . . can’t show anyone. . . can’t.

Trying mightily to thrust away all her jumbled emotions, every single shred of feeling behind a wall, Buffy fought a tiny voice in her heart urging her not to close herself off.

Dawn was so pale, even against the white cotton sheets covering her still form. A light blanket covered her, though her bruises gave a sickening contrast to the lack of any other color.

The bandage wrapped around Dawn’s wrist, with the IV drips in her other arm, was a direct reminder of what brought them here.

She had no idea how long she stood there, her mind almost blank, afraid to look closer into the reasons why her sister felt being gone was better or easier. Despairingly afraid she understood far too well why being gone was easier; understood far too well how seductive and easy it would be to lay down all burdens and give into the need to let the pain go. Forever. To just – surrender the burdens, surrender every pain, every emotion, everything that was too hard to face. Shying away from that mentally, Buffy continued blindly staring at nothing.

The door creaked open behind her and Buffy said nothing, determined to ignore the presence of whoever dared brave the stifling atmosphere of the room. Ignoring the person, Buffy finally reached out a hand to smooth the blanket over her sister.

A strong hand reached out, arm covered in black leather, another arm circling around her waist. Breathing out a deep sigh, she leaned into the strong chest behind her, resting her head into the crook between shoulder and neck. Spike’s deep whisper broke into the silence. “How’s she doin’?”

“Okay I guess. They wanna keep her overnight.” Buffy fought to hide the distress this news raised, but Spike picked up on it.

“What for?”

“Observation. Said its state law and there’s no way around it.”

“Might be for the best. Niblet needs more than. . . “ his voice trailed off at the look on her face and he fell silent, waiting to see what she might say, realizing he might have struck a nerve, inciting her temper. Spike pulled back expecting to hear her barbed tongue or even bear the brunt of her fist. He was unprepared then, when her face crumpled and Buffy’s tears slid unchecked down her cheeks.

“I’m a horrible person. Mom. . . . Mom left her in my care and. . . and all I do is keep failing.”

“No. None of that now. Your mum knew what she was about, leaving Niblet in your care. No one loves her better.”

“I’m so bad at taking care of anyone. I can barely take care of myself.”

“Weight of the world on your shoulders, kitten, got all you can do to fight the hordes of demons coming at you. Can’t be expected to know everything. We’ll figure it out. Got all of us to help.”

He sent a wave of reassurance through to her, which Buffy clung to like the lifeline he’d intended it to be.

Book two. Chapter 48. Golden sunsets and black storms

In nature there are unexpected storms;
in life there are unpredictable vicissitudes.
Chinese proverb

The talk of sheltering woman
from the fierce storms of life
is the sheerest mockery,
for they beat on her from
every point of the compass,
just as they do on man,
and with more fatal results,
for he has been trained to protect himself,
to resist, to conquer.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton,.As quoted in History of Woman Suffrage, vol. 4, ch. 12, by Susan B. Anthony and Ida Husted Harper

It’s the set of the soul that decides the goal,
And not the storms or the strife.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox, The Winds of Fate


Living is strife and torment,
disappointment and love and sacrifice,
golden sunsets and black storms.
I said that some time ago,
and today I do not think I would add one word.
Laurence Olivier, LA Times26 Feb 78



Lawson spent the rest of the daylight hours hiding from Angel and the rest of his minions, anxious to get away from the mansion. His tryst with Drusilla had unsettled him, more then he was willing to admit out loud. He barely wanted to admit it at all. Some hardly felt sense . . . . something kept eating at him, about what he and Drusilla had done. Exacerbating his unwanted guilt, knowing Drusilla felt less then nothing about the whole situation increased that minuscule emotion.

Pacing the confines of his small room, Sam tried to come up with some way to safely reveal his presence to Spike. So far he’d come up with nothing more elaborate or intelligent than just walking into the Slayer’s territory and announcing he was there to see Spike. He had no idea how that would go over though, because he had no idea how they would deal with a vampire seeking out Spike. And just why was he looking for him. . . he had no idea what exactly he was searching for – what purpose drove him to seek out some sort of an answer for what had happened to him, what was still happening.

All he knew at this moment was, despite the blood-line call of his sire, Sam no more belonged here with the rest of his ‘family’ than the slayer did. The . . . . well, it wasn’t exactly debauchery, but it certainly wasn’t decorous behavior, of those he was housed with constantly grated on him, and their unwillingness to accept his presence played havoc with his need for companionship and contact. He’d been alone for so long now, that the lack of someone to just connect with was playing on his sanity and sensibilities. Meaningless sex was fulfilling if that’s all he was looking for, but Sam was tired of multiple partners and no real intimacy. If he was human, he’d think about settling down and getting married, but that fate had been taken away from him. Hell, right now he’d be happy with a dog for companionship.

Maybe Spike had some insight for him – something – a reason.

He’d come too far not to try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’d gotten everything they could from Jonathan, including his original source for the spell he’d used two years ago. Most helpful had been his advice on what to look for demon-wise. He, aside from Buffy, was the only one to actually see the demon his spell had conjured and it was his off-hand remark to Wesley that got the former Watcher thinking heavily. Jonathan had said, while they were looking through a demon identification guide, “if this spell is incomplete, the demon might not be complete either.”

Wesley had scoffed at first, but the more he’d thought about it, the more sense Jonathan’s statement made. The spell itself was incomplete, therefore the logic dictated the converse was also true. The equal and opposite rule was immutable; if the original spell was incomplete or faulty in any way, then the opposite had to be the same. After gaping at Jonathan for a few moments, while his brain wrapped around this simple truth, he’d mentioned the younger man’s statement to Giles, who quickly agreed with Wesley’s assessment of the situation. That precipitated the current focus of their research – making something incorporeal solid.

Their success rate, at the moment had been slowed considerably due to an unusual influx of retail customers, which necessitated the assistance of not only Giles, but Wesley and Jonathan as well. Anya was at her best, brightly acknowledging each and every one with a smile and a cheery greeting.

Despite the mundane distraction, both Giles and Wesley had their minds on the methods and means of spellwork. Neither one of them thought of calling in the distaff side of the magical equation, some flare of awareness warning them separately not to tread down that path.

Once the hordes of capitalists had been dealt with, the two Englishmen headed for the same volume, the younger man reaching the tome first. Giles detoured for the training room then, calling out for Faith to join them, since they now had a more tangible lead and a way to break the spell. Getting her attention was simple, all he said was, “we’ve got something.”

Faith stopped punching at the bag, untaped her hands and moved into the shop area. “What’s up? Just tell me what I need to do.”

“We’ve got one more component to refine, but after that I believe we’ll be ready to form a plan of attack.” Giles spoke as he walked forward toward the table.

Wesley was scribbling furiously on a pad, rifling through a volume with his free hand. Without looking up at Giles, he ripped off the top sheet, handing it to the older man. “We need these ingredients and a crystal prism, to focus the energy.”

Glancing down at the list, Giles handed it directly to Anya, who had come to stand behind him, and he saw her shake her head at the list. “I suppose we’ll have to charge this to your personal account?”

Emitting a long suffering sigh, Giles shook his head at her and smiled slightly. “Of course. Can’t muck about with the record-keeping.” He paused, taking the list back from her. “Yes Anya, please charge it to my account. Have we got the prism Wesley needs?”

“Any particular crystal prism, or will just a generic one do?” The ex-demon made a face at Giles, though she couldn’t mask her slight annoyance with his flippancy over the proper accounting, addressing her question to Wesley.

“Have we got an Austurian cyrstal? If not the other will be fine.” He answered, again, without lifting his head from the book in front of him, intent upon ironing out this last bit of
information.

“We have three different kinds of Austurian. Do you require blue, green or yellow?” She moved toward the more expensive crystal displays, indicating the crystals in question.

Flipping back pages in the book before he answered her, Wesley ran a finger over the page he wanted, and asked rather sheepishly, “have you got a green one that lightens to yellow at the center?”

Pursing her lips, and bypassing the display, Anya reached down the shelves into the cabinet itself. “This one is very rare. Are you sure you need this specific one? I could get a very nice sum of money for this on the open market.”

She said it so matter of factly that none of the others registered the bluntness for a few moments. Faith snickered, hiding a grin by turning away her head, while both Giles and Wesley sported completely exasperated looks, Giles merely raising an eyebrow in her direction while Jonathan swung his head from person to person.

“Oh all right, but really Giles, you have to stop using all our best stock on in-house spells.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was after five and Dawn was beginning to stir, her hands and feet fluttering spasmodically, eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids, whimpers sounding behind closed lips. In the time between his arrival and the current moment, Spike had managed to finally convince Buffy it might be better for all of them to let the hospital keep Dawn, just for one night. He’d also managed to promise they’d both stay with her and he would smuggle in the sprog and Kirsten, so everyone would be together.

Buffy thought he was crazy, promising all that, but he’d left just a little while ago, the minute the sun had dropped far enough for him to forego the sewers on a quest to get Kirsten and the baby. She’d made him promise if there was a hint of any problem with the hospital staff, he would bring the two straight to Giles.

She was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, watching the fits and starts of her sister’s body making the arduous swim back to reality. The original doctor had told her to expect the tremors, but to watch for real thrashing, which would indicate a seizure.

So far, though, everything was quiet.

Dawn was mumbling now, the sounds making no sense at all, none of the noises above a soft whisper. Buffy was just about to get up and go to Dawn, make an attempt to calm her, when the door swung open behind her. Turning around to face the intruder, Buffy was happily surprised when the plump red-headed nurse from the night before bustled into the room.

“I just found out, sweetie, otherwise I would’ve been in to see you both sooner. How are you doing?”

Grateful and nonplused at the same time, Buffy froze as her uncertainty took over. It was at once what she wanted and feared. Mothering and a loss of control. Unable to give voice to her new companion, Buffy merely shrugged her shoulders. When she didn’t get a verbalized answer, Maureen Osbourne stopped taking Dawn’s vitals and eyed the Slayer. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Buffy finally looked at her. “I’m okay, I guess. Spike went out to get stuff.”

“All right. I’m working tonight and so is Dr. Thomas. The orders for Dawn’s room have been delayed. So you and Spike won’t be disturbed while you’re down here. If you need me, I’ll be right down the hall.”

After writing down Dawn’s vitals, Maureen squeezed Buffy’s arm, then left the room.

She retreated back to the chair, her eyes on Dawn’s twitching body.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oz was trying to practice, showing his bandmates the new songs he’d been writing, oddly enough most of them about love. He wasn’t a demonstrative person, nor the kind who normally let others in on his emotions, but these lyrics had his bandmates staring at him with stunned looks. He was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable, when Devon picked up the thread of the melody and grabbed the papers in front of Oz and began singing.

Pretty soon, the rest of the band had joined in, leaving Oz free to breathe and just hear the songs. He couldn’t shake the image of her out of his head, despite his best efforts. He knew, deep down, she didn’t love him, didn’t return the emotions in the way he wanted or needed, but he couldn’t stop the way he was feeling. It was different too, from what he’d felt for Willow – there wasn’t that spark of passion, it was an altogether different feeling.

It was good. Warm. Like apple pie and vanilla. Like his mother’s laundry soap and the smell of clean sheets. The quiet of the monastery at night. Stuff everyone took for granted, but always brought a sense of peace and comfort. Oz found himself anxious for everything to go back to being normal. . . . whatever normal was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sneaking the sprog and his baby slayer into the hospital was a walk in the park. Especially considering how nearly everyone had been involved in something else, and those that weren’t turned a blind eye when the baby-toting vampire slipped in through the ambulance port.

Kirsten followed behind Spike, a backpack full of baby supplies slung over her shoulders. Connor had been fussing, whiny and fitful since he’d woken up from his afternoon nap, enough so Kirsten had seriously thought of heading out for the hospital on her own. She’d been shoving necessities into the backpack when Spike burst through the door, bellowing her name.

Ten minutes later they were on their way back to the hospital, Connor strapped into his car seat and Spike anxious to be gone.

So now here she was, walking into the room containing her mother and sister. Kirsten shook off the eeriness, forcing away the total weirdness. Dawn was safe now – as safe as possible anyway. She knew it, could sense it. Two sets of memories walked side by side through her mind and Kirsten fought the impulse to tell them everything she knew. Although that might be much worse than what she’d already done and she knew her father wouldn’t want that.

It was time. Time to go back – well, forward. She sighed at herself. Return to where she belonged.

She knew the spell blocking their memories was about to be broken and they too would be returning to what should be.

Her eyes swept the small examining room, noting the twitching figure on the gurney, Dawn’s dark hair hanging down off the side. Buffy – Mom – was facing the door, her eyes flickering between fear and amusement as she shifted her gaze between Dawn and Spike. Lines of fatigue bracketed her mouth and Kirsten found herself comparing this with the Mom she’d left behind. . . .

And then there was Spike. Her Daddy.

What had happened to the cynical, almost broken man who’d finally come home. . . .

Kirsten sighed, drawing their attention. Physically they looked pretty much the same, but she knew the intervening fifteen or so years had wrought an emotional toll on them, ravaging them both.

She realized then, at that precise moment, staring at them both, Connor gurgling happily in his bouncy chair, the decision she and the other two had made had been the right one.

Their intentions had been pure – almost completely selfless – and in saving Dawn – they’d saved all of them.

A crooked smile crossed her features, so like her mother’s and both blondes recognized it; and surprising everyone, including herself, Kirsten burst into tears.

Buffy was the first to reach her, her arms encircling her and for the first time since she’d walked through time, Kirsten touched her mother.

“Hey, its okay.” Wiping away the tears, Buffy glanced down into the teen’s eyes. Understanding came on reluctant feet and try as she might to fight it, Buffy couldn’t play denial girl. “Time to go, huh?”

Kirsten slowly nodded her head, unwilling to meet either of their eyes.

Spike had moved closer, standing just behind Buffy, his eyes watching both of them intently. His expression darkened as he watched two of his girls, and he found himself memorizing Kirsten’s features, imprinting them in his head. There were moments, earlier, when part of him wanted to know just exactly why she’d taken such a terrible risk and what future had she been attempting to avert – and then he thought better of having too much information. He knew Buffy had felt the same way also, could sense the questions swirling in her head and also her decision to purposefully not ask. If it was bad enough to send their fifteen year old daughter careening through time, neither one of them wanted to know. It was enough to know they’d successfully avoided what set Kirsten on this path.

It was done. Now it was time to send her back and Spike found himself fighting the urge to beg her to stay, knowing how very impossible that urge was. Buffy pulled back a little, her eyes scanning Kirsten’s face and Spike’s arm stole around her waist, his left hand curving over the lines of Buffy’s still flat belly. Her right hand linked with his and her left brushed the hair back from Kirsten’s face. It was a gesture she used often with Dawn and Buffy’s eyes filled with tears again.

“Yeah. I have . . . I need to go back.” Her voice hitched and broke more than once, like some weird vocal rollercoaster and Kirsten tried hard to keep the tears from springing to her eyes again. She shook her head once, fighting the tears and stepped back away from their embrace. “I know. . . Its like really uncool to say it. . . “ Kirsten made a funny face, scrunching up her nose and continued, “but, I just. . . . I love you.”

Buffy reached for her again, but Kirsten shook her head and stepped further away. “I gotta go.“

With a last look into both their eyes, Kirsten headed for the door. It was only Spike’s voice that stopped her. “How’re you getting back to where you’re supposed to be?”

She paused, her hand on the doorknob, to turn and look at them over her shoulder. “Same way I got here, I just kinda . . . . close my eyes and make it happen.”

“Just close your eyes? What in fuckin’ hell . . . . What the bloody hell do you mean, just close your eyes?” His agitation, which had been hovering at dangerous levels for hours now, rose again, and only Buffy’s hand on his arm held him back.

“Look, I don’t really know how to explain it. Pop does a better job than I do, but then he’s good at this kind of stuff. All I know is I can make time, I can sorta make time kinda fold in on itself.” She shrugged, then relented at the looks on their faces. “I don’t know exactly how I can do it. Its like Dawn’s ability to open dimensional walls and Connor’s freaky super strength, and . . . “ she paused, thinking better of letting slip anything else. “So yeah, its like that. Super side benefits of being hybrids.”

“If you can do that, princess, why is it you need to leave this room?” Spike was suspicious, and there was a lot of this he was taking on faith that someday he’d understand it all, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled with everything that was happening.

“I don’t. Not really. I just kinda . . . “

“Are used to sneaking around?” Once she thought about it, that scenario made so much more sense then any other and Buffy just had to say it.

Looking for all the world like the busted teen that she was, Kirsten just gaped at her parents. “Um. Yeah. I guess.”

Buffy and Spike shared a look Kirsten didn’t want to understand, but she thought maybe she did, and when Buffy spoke, she was sure of it. “Did you think we wouldn’t figure it out? I used to sneak out of my house all the time, trying to hide what I was doing from Mom. Even after she knew I still climbed out the window some nights.”

There wasn’t anything Kirsten could say to either of them and she had the sinking feeling she and her siblings were never going to be able to get away with much. A deep sigh emerged from her mouth and Kirsten didn’t meet their eyes. “I really have to go.”

Neither one of them spoke, waiting for Kirsten’s next move. She stepped forward to hug them one more time and smiled nervously when Spike whispered, “I’ll see you after, bit.”

Hiding the frisson of fear creeping down her back, she stood away from them, and ducked her head, unwilling to meet his intense gaze. “Okay Daddy.”

She closed her eyes, concentrated on her own heartbeat, ignoring the sounds from the others in the room with her. Time slowed as her heartbeat did and Kirsten concentrated on the last thing she’d seen in her timeline. . . . and her connection with Robbie. Focusing heavily on that, Kirsten felt the edges of her consciousness alter, thinning, stretching out endlessly and she took a step forward and while Buffy and Spike looked on, she disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wesley and Giles had performed a trace locator, for spell activity in the last three days, and found a generalized location of where the spell had been performed. Once that had been done, it was easy to perform a second trace spell, for any magics associated with the original spell. Using the map, it was clear, from the pin-points, the spell had some far reaching impact. There were traces of the spell’s effects in the Magic Box, the house on Revello, which they’d expected; completely unexpected was a faint trace connection somewhere in the location of the docks.

Anya stared at the map, looking over Giles’ shoulder while Wesley tried to narrow down the faint trace. It was Jonathan who pointed out exactly what they were all thinking. “I bet that’s where the demon is.”

“Its possible.” Giles wasn’t quite ready to concede the point, especially given how little they knew for sure about this whole situation. Sunnydale wasn’t that big a town, and the map was a fairly large one – he hadn’t said anything about the location, though he was fairly certain the spell had been performed in very close proximity to the Rosenberg residence. He was shaken from his thoughts by Faith’s voice.

“So do we need a visual of this sometimes invisible demon?”

Wesley shook his head. “I’d feel better if we had a confirmation of sorts, plus once we have a visual sighting, the spell can be performed and you can destroy it.”

“All that huh? We gonna do this now or wait for the power blonds?” Faith folded her arms across her chest, eyes flicking between the Watchers.

Without waiting for Giles, Wesley said, “I think we should go ahead without them. I’m fairly confident you can take care of anything that might pop up.”

“Agreed.” Giles began gathering up the supplies, shoving them into a bag. “Buffy needs to focus on Dawn. We can deal with this.”

Satisfied they were okay with the situation, Faith relaxed fractionally, then moved to the weapons. “So how are we doing this? You guys do the mojo and I’m just the hired muscle?”

Grimacing at her description, Giles shook his head. “Not quite. You and Wesley will be armed. I should be able to perform the spell on my own. Jonathan? Would you mind assisting me?”

The small young man puffed up, more than a bit surprised by Giles’ request, yet incredibly pleased. Anya, however, had a different reaction.

“What? Why are you taking him? How come he gets to go? I’m a very competent spellcaster, and . . . and I can fight too!”

Drawing her away, Giles smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling. “There isn’t anyone I’d rather have beside me, Anya, but if you come with us now, who will watch the shop? I don’t trust anyone but you with my shop.”

It took her a beat, but she finally returned his smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” And she threw her arms around him in an impulsive hug. “In that case, I’m glad you’re taking Jonathan. I’m sure he’ll be adequate.”

“If all goes well, everything should be back to normal shortly.”

“I hope so, because otherwise I’ll have to balance the books without knowing any of our information.” The prospect seemed to send her into a bit of a tizzy, but before he could respond, Faith was calling out, “time to motor.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Using his limited knowledge of the town, Sam relied on what information he did have and his own heightened senses in order to find Spike.

Gambling heavily, Lawson followed the most recent trail his senses had picked up, leading him back toward the hospital. He hadn’t expected that, but the closer his steps got toward the building the stronger the trace was. Spike had always had a distinctive signature, strong as Angel’s, yet just a shade different – somehow deeper, more resonant. Had to be because they’d spent his first days as a vampire in Spike’s company, learning from him. Sam had never read up on it, but he thought it might be a bit like imprinting – bonding with the first of your kind whether or not that first being was the one directly contributing to your makeup.

Staring up at the building, Lawson wondered why he was taking this huge risk.

It was the only hope he had anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tara found herself sneaking glances at Willow all day, finding herself falling in love all over again. Everything had been so tumultuous over the past, well, couple of years, she wasn’t sure if her emotions were because of Willow or the introduction she’d had into what constituted reality in Sunnydale. But now, with Willow by her side and nothing pressing, no apocalypse looming on the horizon, no big bad to worry about, no demons or vampires to fight, no mourning – just her, Tara was realizing it was Willow, and only Willow that had stolen her heart.

Not that being part of the scoobies wasn’t a rush in itself, because it very much was. It was just being with Willow made everything sharper, more real, more. . . . intense. She loved Willow, with everything she had, with everything she was. . . and somehow she knew, Willow loved her the same way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Foregoing his usual behavior, Jenner decided he was going to walk the boundaries of his new temporary territory. There’d been no word from Angelus, which Jenner took as a sign of his inability to focus on – or clear up his priorities. Only two days in this town and he was already regretting his decision to leave Plymouth. Mentally tallying up his information, weighing it against what he knew of the slayer’s situaton, Jenner decided he would give it a full seven days, before he headed back for England.

No amount of revenge was worth it.

With Hawkins and the rest of his people trailing behind him, Jenner headed out, looking for a decent meal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike had forgotten to bring food for Buffy, though he and Kirsten remembered to bring bottles and formula for Connor. For the first few moments after Kirsten’s disappearance, neither one had spoken, unsure of what to say. Something Kirsten said about her and Dawn and Connor being different because they were hybrids echoed in Buffy’s head and she tried several times to bring it up to Spike, but every time she opened her mouth, no words would come.

It wasn’t until her belly started rumbling that Spike stirred, moving from his position beside Dawn. The second time a loud grumble from her sounded, Spike was halfway to the door, asking her what she wanted to eat.

So now she was all alone again, with just the two children and her thoughts. Which she really didn’t want to be. Thinking. Only badness comes from thinking. If not for the rumbling in her belly, Buffy’s mind would have been numb. Connor was happily gurgling in his chair, his chubby little hands wrapped around a chew toy he kept trying to get into his mouth. He was blissfully unaware of the stress and tension surrounding the adults, happy just to be near those he considered family.

There was a noise out in the hallway and the door creaked partially open. A tall dark haired man stepped inside the room as the tingles signaling vampire started. Buffy got to her feet, her eyes scanning the room, looking for a weapon; and angling herself to protect the other two.

The good looking vampire straightened to his full height, his hands outstretched almost in surrender. “Hi. Ah. . . is William. . . Spike here?”

Buffy took a step closer, pushing him back toward the door. “No. What do you want with him?”

He was trying to stay calm, moving very slowly, keeping his movements to a bare minimum. The last thing he wanted to do was incite the Slayer. Who was, at the moment, eyeing him rather suspiciously.

He was trapped now, just beside the door.

“Gonna answer me?” She watched him closely, trying to figure out what this vampire wanted.

The door flung open again and Spike strode in, hands full of snacks and drinks. “Got some fruity yogurt an’ some. . . . “

Spike took in the scene next to him, his eyes drawn immediately to the sight of Buffy facing down an unknown . . . . “Lawson?”

He moved slowly past the Slayer, looking for a place to put down his loot. Dumping everything on the table next to Dawn’s bed, Spike turned around to face the other two.

“Hello chief.” Lawson didn’t move from his spot, or lower his hands; nor did he take his eyes from Buffy’s face.

Book Two. Chapter 49. Cutting the heart asunder

Love is dead; let lovers’ eyes,
Locked in endless dreams,
The extremes of all extremes,
Ope no more, for now Love dies.
John Ford, The Broken Heart (IV, iii)

When children's dreams are shattered, the whole world weeps
7th Heaven

The beauty of the world has two edges,
one of laughter,
one of anguish,
cutting the heart asunder.
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

How strange when an illusion dies,
it's as though you've lost a child.
Judy Garland

We cast away priceless time in
dreams, born of imagination,
fed upon illusion, and
put to death by reality.
Judy Garland





Faith walked to the far right of the three men, her eyes constantly scanning around, looking for anything that seemed out of place. So far, though, things had been strangely quiet. “Okay, so, been out of the loop for a while, not patrolling and shit, but uh, this is so not normal.”

Wesley hefted his blade, getting a feel for the balance, then answered Faith’s non-question. “It is rather quiet. But I can’t honestly say whether or not this is normal lately. We won’t know for certain until this spell is broken.”

“So I should expect a whole shitload of vamps once we’re done?” Faith half turned away from them, her eyes focusing on something moving around in the shadows. “Watcher-man, I think you could set up here. . . . got something.”

She stalked forward, her eyes peering intently into the gloom, every muscle on alert. Wesley came up behind her and Faith tensed up even more. “Gimme some room. Just stay back.”

Jonathan was emptying the bag Giles had handed to him, setting up the supplies on the ground, while Giles drew a quick protective circle around the pair of them. Calling the quarters in an extra measure, Giles began the steps to stabilize the demon. Faith moved stealthily forward, poised for action, Wesley a few feet behind her.

The only noise was the sound of Giles’ voice intoning the spell Wesley had formulated and the soft hiss of Jonathan’s breathing. An itching tingle started running up the center of Faith’s spine and the air in front of her began to shimmer, like the heat waves bouncing off a scorching sidewalk. It flickered and wavered, the bricks of the walls in front of them altering in appearance and the ugliest looking demon Faith had seen in a long while materialized almost out of thin air.

Slayer and demon stared at each other for long seconds, both of them caught by surprise. Faith was the first to move, pushing Wesley away, giving herself even more room to work. “Hello there ugly. Time to die.”

Swinging her short sword in a looping arc, Faith balanced her weight, falling easily and naturally into a fighting stance. Muscles long unused to slaying woke in the dark night, singing with the prospect of violence, and the dark haired Slayer grinned in anticipation.

The demon surged forward, a heavy fist arcing wide of Faith’s head as she leaned back out of reach. Faith pivoted, bringing up her left fist to punch the demon’s head. Drool and cool green fluid flowed from its gaping orifice, something Faith registered as a mouth, then it turned, growling and shuffling deep in its throat. Bringing up the sword, Faith cut a long thin line across its back, more of the green fluid oozing out of its torso. The thing was small, about the same size as Faith, with a greyish-green skin and fur. It had no discernable eyes, at least none she could see, but the thing could definitely sense where she was. Caught off-guard for a moment, Faith backpedaled away when the creature came at her, fists swinging, then brought up her right hand. Swinging wildly yet controlled, Faith cut through the arm-like appendage aiming for her head, then moved in for the kill. The creature faltered, and Faith’s attention was drawn away when Wesley ground out, “Vampires.”

Giles broke the circle, stepping outside the protective ring, his crossbow at the ready, aimed at one of the vampires who were standing on the roofs of the buildings nearby. Faith was still battling the creature, the others warily watching their opponents, when the creature growled low, grabbing for the sword. Once more Faith pivoted, kicking up with one foot, turning around in a complete circle. Using her momentum, Faith threw her upper body into the swing, bringing the short sword up in an arc. The blade bit deep into the creature’s neck, oozing green goo now spurting in gushes. The stuff splashed against her chest and Faith grimaced. Bracing her foot against the dying creature’s chest, she pulled the sword out, then swung the blade, loping off the head.

“Ah, this is freaking disgusting.” Ignoring the corpse on the ground, Faith followed her companions’ gazes upward when none of them commented. The looming figures were dark against the early night sky, most of them huge and imposing. Faith stepped back, motioning the others to close ranks behind her. Just as Wesley started moving, one of the figures dropped down, landing lightly on his feet, facing her.

He was huge. Standing at least six foot four – if not more, Faith had to crane her head to look at him. Damn he’s a big boy.

For the first time in a long while, Faith understood why. . . . His eyes swept over her, lingering on her hips and breasts, but it was when their eyes met for the first time Faith felt her breath begin to hitch.

The vampire stepped out of the shadows and Faith got a good look at his face. It was all planes and angles – and her pulse sped up.

Jenner was surprised. He’d never expected her to fight alone without Spike. She was gorgeous, but then that was to be expected. Most slayers were attractive, some unusually so. This one was no exception.

They’d still not spoken, neither one of them willing to break the silence, nor the spell forming between them.

Finally, after long moments, Jenner opened his mouth.

His voice was goose-bump inducing deep, just a bare hint of his native Welsh accent leaking through, though Faith couldn’t place it. Just like her older counterpart, Faith proved less than immune.

“Slayer.”

With a hint of her own accent and a bit of her own sass showing, Faith returned his one word greeting. “Vampire.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anya was in the middle of a very lucrative sale when she completely lost her train of thought and very nearly her balance. She swayed a bit on the step stool, closed her eyes and leaned heavily against the shelves. One of the apothecary jars containing aconite teetered precariously and Anya slapped her hand against the glass, shoving it forcefully back onto the shelf.

Inhaling deeply, she somehow managed to get her balance back, corral her suddenly raging temper, grasp the jar of Atlantean nettles and step down, all before her customer realized something had happened. Reaching for the gloves and tongs she kept underneath the counter for doling out the deadly herbs, she quickly ran through the list of sale items, reciting them by rote, while her mind seethed with fury.

They’d done it – managed to break the spell by destroying the invisible demon – and Anya knew beyond any shadow of a doubt exactly who had performed the spell.

Finally concluding the sale, Anya chirped out, “Thank you for shopping at the Magic Box, suppliers for all your mystical needs on the Hellmouth and largest supplier on the West Coast. Please come again and spend your cash, because after all, spending boosts the economy.”

Once the woman was out of hearing range, her tone changed and her words grew darker. “Damn that girl. I told Giles she was over the edge and that idiotic man did nothing. Someone needs to put a stop to her.”

Reaching for the feather duster, Anya almost stalked angrily through the shop, no outlet for her temper other than cleaning.

“Unthinking, inconsiderate. . . . . “

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only warning Oz had came when his wolf caught a faint trace of Tara’s scent on him, when suddenly, like a kick to the gut, the past was all there. A growl escaped from his throat and he missed a note. His fingers faltered, although he was able to recover before the beat changed and messed up the whole band.

His mind was swirling with the influx of memories, most of them centered on the reality of what had been the past couple of months without Willow. Now he understood why he smelled so much like Tara – they’d practically been inseparable, spending weekends and nights hanging out – and not to mention the time he’d spent sleeping in her bed. Even though nothing of a romantic nature had taken place, he still felt the way he’d felt earlier, when he’d been trying to figure out why her scent was all over him.

She was pack. Tara was part of him, whether he understood the reasons why or not, it hardly mattered anymore. The feeling had been growing, slowly, inexorably, but growing all the same. It had taken this spell, the theft of his memories and hers, to clarify the emotions.

Okay dude, so now you know you aren’t losing your mind. . . . what the hell are you gonna do about it? He thought for a moment, his mind blank, then realized he was going to do what he always did after practice.

Go home. To Tara.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy had edged closer to Lawson, protecting the two non-combatants who were still blissfully unaware of the tensions suddenly appearing in the room. Spike was still staring at the other vampire, his thoughts all jumbled. Lawson was quiet, neither moving nor breathing, his eyes carefully on the Slayer.

Long moments passed while Spike tried processing what Lawson’s presence actually meant. “What. . . the. . . thought you were long gone.”

“No sir. Just been under the radar for a long time.” Lawson still hadn’t moved.

“You know this guy?” She returned the favor, not taking her eyes from the vampire against the wall.

“A bit. Haven’t seen him for years.” Spike moved closer, easing behind Buffy, further protecting the children.

With a hitch in her voice, Buffy asked him her current biggest fear. “Is he one of yours?”
“No. ‘E’s one of the great git’s.” There was no doubt in her mind he was telling the truth, she could feel the conviction coming through the claim, not to mention hear it clearly in his voice.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“1941.” He thought for a moment, then corrected himself. “No, it was ‘43. Just after I’d been clipped by the Nazis.”

She was weighing this information against the obviously submissive stance of the vampire in front of her. “Was he a vamp then?”

“Ah, yes an’ no, pet.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Spike rock forward on the balls of his feet, his body poised in case of an outbreak of violence. “Was stuck in a sub on the bottom of the Atlantic. Yanks had gotten Angelus to agree to get the sub movin’. Came down an’ turned this one here, so’s we could rescue the rest o’ them.”

Both Lawson and Spike knew he’d left out a crucial part of the narrative, leaving out Spike’s part in the carnage that had taken place, the aftermath or that Angel really hadn’t had much of an option about turning the young ensign. Lawson’s sense of loyalty kept him silent and Spike’s own sense of preservation kept his mouth shut for once.

“He did it after the soul?” Her confusion was clearly evident and the question obviously answered an unspoken one of Lawson’s because the other vampire shifted his gaze to stare at Spike.

“He had a soul? How did that happen? Did you know about it?” His shoulders slumped and Lawson continued, his voice hoarse and whisper soft, “that explains so much . . . . I didn’t know.” Raising tortured eyes to Spike, Sam asked him, “Did you know?”

“Not then. No.” Spike shook his head. “Didn’t find out until much later.”

Silently watching the interplay between the two vampires, Buffy didn’t miss the tortured look on the stranger’s face and she turned a curious gaze on Spike. Before he responded to her look, Spike focused his piercing stare on the other vampire. “You gonna behave yourself?”

“Yes sir. It’s why I’m here.” He still hadn’t moved from the spot Buffy had pinned him in earlier and he made no move to change that.

Breathing out a deep sigh, Spike nodded his head. Motioning to the vampire in front of them, he said, “Slayer, this is Lawson.“

Their gazes swung back to the other, and Spike said, “Lawson, this is Buffy.”

She almost chirped out ‘nice to meet you’ when she was struck by a wave of dizzying nausea. Buffy reached out a hand, her fingers closing around Spike’s forearm and she swallowed hard. “Kitten?”

The wave of nausea washed through both of them, then Spike leaned forward, catching the wavering form of his mate in his arms. “Oh my god. What the hell was that?”

Knowledge washed over them simultaneously, the veil obscuring their memories disappearing in the backwash of emotions. Spike’s jaw clenched, every muscle tensing as he tried to come to grips with what his returned memories were telling him. Buffy started to wheel away from him, but his hand grasping hers forestalled the movement and his arms wrapped around her, holding her against his chest.

At first she fought him, fought against the comfort he was offering, but when the reality of what had happened finally settled within her, Buffy buried her face into his chest, her hiccuping breaths muffled against him.

Lawson stepped away, giving the unlikely couple of vampire and Slayer privacy, not understanding at all what had just occurred only knowing his presence at this moment was intrusive and unnecessary.

Buffy was mumbling against his torso, her hands clutching at the material of his soft shirt. “What the hell was that? Who would do something like that to us? Who would want to hurt us that much? And Dawnie. . . . . oh my god. None of this would. . . she wouldn’t . . . . oh Spike. What . . . how did this happen?”

“Shhhh, kitten. Gonna figure it out. We’ll get the watchers on this, an’ we’ll get answers right quick.” He held onto her as the tears started to overwhelm her and everything came crashing back; all her lost memories, being dead – and where she’d been – how she’d been ripped unwillingly from heaven and by whom, Willow’s increasing spiral into darkness, Angel’s loss of soul, Connor. . . . everything.

Spike led Buffy over to the chair beside Dawn’s bed, sitting her down in it gently. He was on his knees before her, his big strong hands wiping away the tears, soft voice rumbling quietly between them. Lawson was frozen in place for long moments, focusing on the tones of the master vampire’s voice and ignoring the words, listening to the heartbeats of humans around him.

The Slayer was quiet now, one of her hands resting on Spike’s, the other brushing against his cheek. The vampire leaned forward, pressing a kiss against her forehead, whispered something then got to his feet. Spike’s eyes caught Lawson’s and he focused his considerable attention on the other vampire. Glancing once more down at Buffy, Spike tilted his head, indicating the other and she nodded once. Moving close, Spike grabbed Lawson and pushed him into the corner furthest away from his small family.

“What brings you round these parts, Lawson?” Spike stared the taller man down, his laser blue eyes boring into Lawson’s brown ones. “An’ why did you come lookin’ for me?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d been waiting for a couple of hours for someone to come relieve him and stay with Cordy overnight. Usually it was Wesley, sometimes Giles – but someone usually managed to get there before eight-ish. Xander had no idea how long it had been since he’d gone home to change his clothes, nor how long he’d been sitting with Cordy. The Buffybot was beginning to get on his nerves though, with the constant cheeryness and uber-bright smile.

Xander was sitting beside Cordy’s bed, his eyes on the television screen, ignoring everything around him. He missed the minute fluttering of Cordelia’s eyelids, the involuntary twitch of long silent lips and the restless movements of her fingers.

He was watching NextGen, his mind wholly focused on the drama unfolding in an unreal dimension, missing the real drama being enacted beside him.

So instead of Xander, it was the Buffybot who watched with avid interest, fascinated with tracking the infinitesimal signs of the return of consciousness.

And so it was the Buffybot who saw the tiny, split-second moment when Cordelia opened her eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was sometime after seven, and the two girls had been out all day, window shopping, reconnecting, just sharing time and falling in love again.

Fleeting touches – a fingertip brushing over a soft hand – a lock of hair brushed back, exposing pink-tinged cheek – the low dip of a blouse, baring a small pert breast, nipple hard and eager.

Their day had been filled with such moments.

And now, as the moon began her climb into the winter’s sky, time it was to end the teasing. By unspoken agreement – for who needs words when two lovers are attuned? – the girls headed for the place they called home.

Each one was achingly aware of the other, passion flaring slowly between them.

They were halfway home – nearer than not – when Tara stopped her lover with a gentle touch. “Will. . . . Willow? I just. . . . “ a soft twisted smile covered her features, almost as if she were too shy to give voice to her emotions. Her whisper was heartbreakingly soft – a breath on the soft breeze – but the words reached her lover in any case.

“I love you, Willow.”

And Tara bent her head down to kiss her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh he is one fine looking stud. Could ride him. . . . . Faith realized the track her mind was heading down and forcefully pushed it away. Thinking like that is no freaking good. And the hell? “Why would I be worried about blondie?”

Jenner had unconsciously moved closer, angling himself to get a better look at the Slayer. Had he actually asked about Spike? Jenner didn’t remember voicing that question out loud, but he must have, because the Slayer answered him. He could understand how Spike would fall for this one. . . She was all fire and brass, built just right for long days in bed. He’d personally never quite understood William’s obsession until this moment. If the rest of his slayers were even half of this one – he very much understood why. Her husky voice broke into his musings and Jenner realized he’d never actually answered her question.

“So buddy, got a name?” Geezuz girl, what the hell are ya doing? Copying B? She shook off the vibrations this vampire was sending – or at least tried too. Aside from Kakistos, this was the oldest vamp she’d ever run across – and Faith wasn’t sure if it was because of his age or his physical attributes her panties were all in a knot.

“Jenner.” Faith shook her head, watching him warily as he moved closer.

“What is it with you vamps? Two names aren’t good enough for ya?”

Both of them ignored the fidgeting Jonathan, who was the only one truly unnerved by the situation. Jenner was fighting back the urge to laugh – the Slayer’s comments striking him as funny.

“Most vampires discard lots of things when they’ve turned – usually one name or the other.” Jenner found himself needlessly explaining this – which deepened his amusement. Faith was about to comment when unearthly deep canine growls filled the air.

Everyone froze – including the vampires on the rooftops. Another growl sounded, echoing off the brick walls around them. All eyes focused on the source – a darker shadow hovering between two buildings off to Faith’s right. A hound taller than Jonathan appeared in the alley leading toward the residential area – eyes glowing red.

The hound bayed once, then half turned back the way he’d come, as if urging them to follow. Faith stepped forward and an incongruous yip of approval emerged from the hound.

She took another step and the hound started walking away, with a glance at both Giles and Wesley, she shrugged and followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike had Lawson penned closer than Buffy had earlier – hemming him in despite their height difference. Curiosity was clear in Spike’s gaze and Lawson decided in that split second to take the opening he’d been given.

Answering both gaze and verbalized question, Sam started speaking. “When the sire’s call came through the bloodlines, I honestly thought about ignoring it, and I did, the first time.” He shrugged. “The second call is the one. . I . . it had the ring of a command, though I doubt it was directed at me.”

Spike relaxed fractionally, although he didn’t move away. “Felt it myself. Ignored it. Had m’self a better deal.”

Lawson nodded, his eyes drifting toward Buffy’s seated form. “I didn’t. Had no reason really to ignore it. Problem is, I’m not entirely sure I fit in with everyone.”

A wry smile crossed Spike’s features, his head nodding in understanding. With Angelus it was all about what he wanted – his rules – and there was no help if you differed. He sported a few scars over differences of opinion with the great git and the only reason why Lawson wasn’t sporting similar scars was because of his abandonment. Spike’s eyes darkened then a mischievous glint twinkled. “Got a bit of my own problem fittin’ in with the relatives.”

Picking up on the gist of Spike’s comment, Lawson continued, “Yeah, well, once I got here I sort of remembered that. Since I wasn’t exactly fitting in at the mansion,” he hesitated when Spike shook his head and snorted, “I guess. . . I thought maybe you could help.”

Spike stared at him, but it was Buffy’s voice that broke the sudden silence. “How do you expect us to help you?”

He had the grace to look abashed. “I don’t know.” He swung his gaze between the two. “I didn’t know he had a soul. . . . that was. . . . Look, I understand if you don’t want to help me. I’m nothing to you. But I’ve been watching you and I saw. . . . “ he paused, looking steadily at Buffy, “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Buffy stiffened behind Spike and he could feel her temper rising. Spike moved back, casting a sideways glance at his mate. Lawson looked genuinely saddened and it was Spike who acknowledged it. “Thanks.”

Another awkward silence filled the small room, each of the adults lost in their own thoughts.
The silence was broken when Maureen Osbourne blew into the room, mouth running at a rapid fire – “One of you needs to come out. I’m sorry about this, but there’s a huge – and I mean freaking huge dog howling outside the ER entrance.”

“What?”

“A dog?”

“Yeah. A huge dog, one like Oz, I’m thinking.” The mention of her nephew caught the attention of both blondes, and Spike grabbed Lawson then headed for the door.

“Stay put kitten, ‘ll be right back.”

The two vampires were gone before Buffy could object.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just as she was about to brush her lips against Willow’s, Tara was hit with a wave of dizziness, enough to cause her to waver on her feet. Her eyes closed and she had to swallow, fighting the memories flooding her mind.

She pulled away from the kiss, sudden tears filling her eyes. Willow reached for her, a question in her gaze and Tara flinched visibly, shying away from her former girlfriend.

“Baby? What’s wrong?” Willow’s face swam with confusion. “Tara what’s wrong?”

“How could you? “ Willow reached for her again and this time Tara took a huge step back, out of Willow’s reach. “Don’t touch me.”

“Tara?” Willow stepped closer, hand outstretched to keep Tara in place.

“I told you no.”

Once more Willow moved closer, only this time an unearthly low growl sounded in the air at her movement.

Tara raised tear-stained eyes at the sound, focusing on the sight behind Willow.

Three hounds stood behind Willow, eyes trained on the thin redhead, jaws gaping.

Book two. Chapter 50. Evil gains work their punishment.

Evil gains work their punishment.
Sophocles, Antigone, l. 326.

Did she make you cry
Make you break down
Shatter your illusions of love
Is it over now, do you know how
Pick up the pieces and go home.
Gold Dust Woman, Fleetwood Mac, Rumors

Whatever evil a man may think of women,
there is no woman but thinks more.
Sébastien-Roch Nicolas De Chamfort, Maximes et Pensées, vol. 2, no. 414

The evil that is in the world almost
always comes of ignorance,
and good intentions may do as much harm
as malevolence if they lack understanding.
Albert Camus

In revenge and in love
woman is more barbaric
than man is.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Sämtliche Werke: Kritische Studienausgabe, vol. 5, p. 97

No man is clever enough to know all the evil he does.
Francois VI duc de La Rochefoucauld




When they got outside, the hound moved away, almost urging them to follow. Spike raised a brow, knowing what the hounds were looking for, and why. What he didn’t understand was why the hound was here looking for him.

Making a split second decision, Spike shot a look at the other vampire. “Be right back, don’t disappear.”

Nodding his head, Lawson asked, “what’s going on?”

“Never you mind. Jus’ don’t leave.” He was gone in a blink, then before Lawson could get bored, Spike was back.

“C’mon mate, we’re gonna tag after the pooch.”

The blond was off then, through the door and stalking after the huge dog long before Lawson stirred.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d never been so surprised in his existence when the Slayer had turned her back on him and walked off after the huge hound. Stunned for a moment, Jenner turned slightly bemused eyes on her retreating form, then signaled up to Hawkins and the others. Hawkins dropped down beside him, waiting for the orders he knew were coming. When Jenner spoke, he wasn’t surprised.

“You and I are going after them.” He pointed to Hawkins. “The rest of you find someone – but don’t over-indulge. Last thing I want is the Slayer coming down on us.”

Dismissing the rest of the minions, Jenner set off after the Slayer, leaving Hawkins to follow behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Faith was aware of the others behind her, including the two vampires who were hanging back, tracking their movements. She said nothing to either Wesley or Giles, rightly figuring they could sense them also.

The tingles she and Buffy both referred to as spider sense had flared into something else entirely. She was aware of more than just the presence of the trailing vamps – Faith was positive one was Jenner.

Every nerve was humming, jumping beneath her skin, muscles tense and pulsing. The nape of her neck was itchy, and she was beginning to wonder if this was how Spike felt to Buffy. If he made her nerves sing – made her belly flip just by being near. Which led her mind down another path, how it would feel to actually have him touch her. . . . . the sex must be hot. . . . .

Faith shook off the thoughts of sex, sneaking a glance at Wesley, noting his attention was riveted by the hound.

It was Giles though, who voiced the concern they were all beginning to feel. “We’re too close. The house isn’t that far.”

Wesley was the first to spot the others – and it was his soft exclamation, “I knew I should have said something.”

The two girls were facing each other, separated by a few feet and Willow was obviously the object of the hounds’ search, because the hound their strange cavalcade had been following stopped beside Tara, growling deeply at the redhead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy watched the door close behind Spike and the other, her eyes widening, unable to believe he would leave just like that. The room remained silent until Buffy’s belly growled again. Maureen reacted quickly, sitting Buffy down and handing the girl the yogurt sitting on the table. Buffy had a spoonful of the stuff in her mouth before she realized it.

“You have to eat sweetie. You can’t forget to do that.” She was busily unpacking the bag Spike had dumped on the table, clucking her tongue and tsking at some of his selections. ”What was he thinking? Muffins, cookies, chocolate. . . what was that man thinking?”

The door burst open and the man in question flew through, his eyes unerringly finding his girl. “Love, its one of those damned hounds, ‘ve got to go.”

“Spike? What?” Buffy started to get up, but he was there in front of her, down on his knees.

“No, you stay with Dawn an’ the boy. Should be back soon.” He leaned in for a kiss, grabbing his duster from behind her. “Love you.”

“You too.” He licked some yogurt from the corner of her lips and was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gunn had nothing more than an address, no directions and no idea how to get there. Fred was quiet beside him, her eyes scanning street signs and numbers, looking for some clue they were nearing their destination. The exit from the freeway was into a residential area, and while he had originally thought about going directly to the Magic Box, figuring it would be the easier of the two places to find, Gunn had made a wrong turn and ended up heading out of town on the local roads.

They’d wasted time finding a turn off and heading back into Sunnydale, and he looked at the sign announcing the city limits and laughed. The sign was steel reinforced, with a double set of posts into the ground. Wesley had told him the story of Spike’s penchant for knocking the damn thing down and he wondered who was the city official smart enough to order the replacement this way.

He was busily recounting the story, at least as much as Wesley had told him, when Fred’s soft voice interrupted him. “Look, there – see?”

Gunn’s eyes followed the line of her outstretched arm, straining to see the figures standing almost in the middle of the street. “Yeah. Got it.”

Turning the wheel, he dovetailed a little, then brought the truck under control, aiming for the group. “There’s Wesley.”

Fred was practically bouncing in her seat, her eyes fixed on whatever was happening outside. Gunn pulled the truck over, throwing the gear into park, while Fred scrambled out before the engine stopped running. It wasn’t until he was out and the loud, almost subsonic growls reached his ears and Gunn raced behind Fred, realizing they were heading into a situation.

A not so good situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They could hear the two girls fighting from down the block. Willow – that traitorous bitch was pleading with his Glinda, who was, bless her, standing her ground.

Spike nearly outpaced the hound, racing toward the girl, anxious to get there before Willow did something to hurt Tara. Somehow, though he was unsure how he knew, Spike was certain the spell had been the work of Willow. Rage was coursing through him, fueled by the image of Dawn lying on the gurney, bloodless and unresponsive.

All this – the grief and pain of the last two days could be laid square on the back of Willow.

All of it.

Not just the last two days either.

Willow was responsible for Buffy’s return, and part of him was grateful; would always be grateful for that. But a bigger part of him was angry with the witch. She’d done the unthinkable – torn his girl from the reward she’d richly deserved. Spike would never understand how Willow could be so blind – believing Buffy had been trapped in a hell dimension. He might be without a soul, but even he’d known Buffy wouldn’t have gone to a hellish place.

The Huntsman and Wesley’s research had told them to watch out for Willow, not in so many words, yet the inference was clear. Willow, by her blind actions, had betrayed Dawn, Tara and Buffy – it was just a toss up which of the last two she’d hurt more.

The hound was leading them toward – suddenly Spike was filled with certainty – Willow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no pain.

Strange muted noises filled her head and she blinked, trying to remember where she was.

Film covered her eyes and she blinked again.

White.

White . . . . ceiling. . . . . She tried lifting her arms, but there was no strength and her muscles couldn’t – wouldn’t respond. Her brain’s commands weren’t getting through. Fingers twitched and her eyes fluttered closed once more.

A whisper soft whimper sounded in her throat, harsh and pain-filled.

The muted voices disappeared.

“Cordy? Was that you?”

Voice. . . . . know that voice. . . . can’t. . . .

Something warm touched her hand and she tried to close her fingers around it.

“Hey Cordy. Its Xander. Can you hear me?” A pause. “C’mon Cordy, squeeze my finger, blink your eyes or something. Lemme know you’re in there.”

She tried. She really did. Her muscles weren’t responding to any of her brain’s commands. . . .

“Cordy, c’mon, gimme something, some sort of sign.” Her eyes fluttered, slowly lifting.

Cordelia’s first sight in almost two weeks was the tear-filled brown eyes of her ex-boyfriend.

“Oh my god. Cordy. . . . no, don’t go to sleep. Stay awake. I’ll be right back.”

He was gone before she could protest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maureen Osbourne had gone on her rounds and also to the kitchens on a mission to get Buffy something more substantial then the junk food and one yogurt Spike had brought back.

Connor was asleep now, his head on her shoulder, warm breath brushing over her cheek. Buffy was dozing also, one hand on the gurney next to Dawn, the other resting on the baby’s back. Sleep was easier than thinking – thinking was hard – thinking lead to memories, and Buffy so wasn’t up for thinking.

She remembered everything.

Glory. Dying. Being in heaven.

Coming back – being ripped from heaven.

Spike finding her, protecting her, caring for her. . . . caring. . . . loving.

She remembered Tara, and everything she’d done for them. Was still doing.

She remembered Dawn – who she really was – how the monks had made her.

Buffy’s sleepy eyes watched the rise and fall of Dawn’s chest, traveled over her, focusing
on her face.

There was so much of Spike in her features, their real coloring – eyes and hair, his nose – Dawn was already showing signs of beauty. Buffy supposed they’d have to watch . . . . but probably not.

Casey’s death had hit her hard.

Whoever had performed the spell had stolen all their memories – Casey’s death was on their hands – because there was no way any of them would have been so reckless had their memories been intact.

Dawn stirred, shifting uneasily in her drug induced sleep. Buffy watched, her eyes trained on Dawn’s face, willing her to wake up and be okay. Her hand reached out, brushing back the dark hair, fingers threading through the long strands.

“C’mon Dawnie, just open your eyes.”

She didn’t get any response, but she hadn’t really been expecting one.

Buffy sighed, getting up to put Connor down in his car seat, fighting tears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wesley?” Rupert’s soft question sounded solely between the three of them. “What do you mean you should have said something?”

The younger Englishman sighed heavily, avoiding Giles’ questioning gaze. “I’ve had suspicions about all of this, since before Faith woke me up this morning. Willow has been conspicuous in her absence.” He shook his head. “But I held my tongue, buried my fears and said nothing.“

Giles barely glanced aside, his eyes trained on the tableau before them. Faith’s voice sounded before he could speak. “Same here dude, I just figured no one would believe me at all.”

The sarcasm crept into his voice, chastisement very clear. “Really, you two, next time don’t worry about what the rest of us will think. Just say it.”

“Right.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“As long as neither of you ever says ‘I told you so’.”

Faith and Wesley shared a look around Giles, neither one of them smiling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took him more than a few moments to recognize the beast they were all trailing behind. Jenner stopped in his tracks, staring blindly ahead. “Hawkins, how’s your mythology?”

“Depends. We talking Greeks and Romans or something else?” He stopped when his sire did, waiting for whatever would come next.

“Something else. Celts, to be specific.” Hawkins swung round to face the other vampire, surprise on his face.

“You’re asking about . . . why?”

Jenner shook off his thoughts. “Did you see the hound?”

It was as if a light switched on in Hawkins’ head. “Cwn Annwn. How dense am I? What are they doing here in California?”

“Haven’t a clue. But I’m thinking it might have something to do with what’s going on with Spike and Angelus.” Jenner started walking again, his attention focused once more on the Slayer he was following. “Glynnis. . . . “

A dark-haired female emerged from the shadows behind the two and Jenner smiled despite his slight aggravation. He’d expected at least three of his people to disobey him and stay at his side, it was nice to know his expectations had been met. And Glynnis could be counted on to always be near Hawkins.

Her voice was husky – the kind of huskiness that set men to thinking dangerous thoughts. “Yes?”

“Need you to find out what’s been going on with Angelus, what’s happened to him in the last couple of years.” He paused, thinking for a moment, then continued, “you have until daybreak.”

“I’ll have it sooner.”

With a last look at Hawkins, Glynnis slid back into the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charles Gunn had seen a lot of things in his life, things most normal people missed. Growing up on the streets of Los Angeles, shit just happened. But this was the first time he could ever remember so many people just watching two girls or ever seen such big damn dogs.

Shooting a look at his companion, Gunn shrugged, muttering under his breath about weirdness. Shielding Fred with his bulk, Gunn led her to where Wesley stood with Faith and some old guy, their attention on the strange scene being played out across the street.

“Yo, English. Whassup with this shit?” Obviously Gunn’s presence caught the other man by surprise, because he turned startled eyes toward the two newcomers.

“Gunn?! Good lord. What are . . . . “ Wesley stared at him for a moment, then shook off his momentary shock. “How did you get here?”

“Sorry it took so long. Had trouble with the wheels.”

Wesley waved off his apology, about to say something else when a low rolling growl echoed in the night and Wesley whipped round to see what had caused it.

Charles followed his movement, his dark eyes widening at the sight of the huge dogs circling a pair of arguing girls.

One of the girls pulled away from the other, almost stumbling in her haste to get away.

A voice sounded, calling out “Glinda” and then the hounds growled as one, the biggest moving toward the smaller of the two girls, jaws open, baying for blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was close enough now to hear their words, Willow pleading with her former lover while Tara rejected her, spelling out all Willow’s sins.

The raw emotion of Tara’s heart breaking for the second time was clear, even from half a block away.

Spike ran, putting on a burst of speed, hoping he could get close enough to shield the blond from whatever nasty Red was planning. He stopped short, though, when the hound he’d been following rounded on him, snapping its jaws, cutting off his route to rescue.

“Nice pooch, calm down.” He slowed to a walk, edging closer and closer, willing to risk getting torn apart to save Tara. “C’mon you mangy cur, lemme save the girl.” Spike realized it was futile, but he wasn’t going to allow another one of his girls to get hurt. He’d had more than enough of that over the past couple of days.

He could see Rupert, Faith, Wesley and two others watching warily, and he noted with a grim smile Giles inching forward every few seconds. He sensed Lawson getting closer and another pair of vampires hovering just out of sight. Ignoring them all, Spike chanced another set of steps closer. The hounds, six strong now, growled as one and he froze, feeling the air draw in around him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you Willow. What on earth were you thinking?” Tara’s face was contorted,
a cross between anger and disgust, her blue eyes filled with unshed tears.

“I did it for us, you and me. So we could be happy again – the way things are supposed to be.” There was no anger in Willow’s voice, just confused pleading, but it was the lack of remorse or understanding within her eyes that set Tara off.

“For us? There isn’t . . . there hasn’t been an us in a while. So what is this really about? Control?” She took another step back, away from Willow and unknowingly toward Spike.

“Control? No, baby, I did it all to get you back, so we could be happy again. The way we were before.”

“Before what? Before you decided to play with everyone? Before you decided we should all live life according to Willow’s rules?” Tara’s anger was gaining ground over her hurt and even Faith could tell the taller girl was losing her patience. “How things go – who lives or dies – is not your decision, Willow. You can’t just decide to bring Buffy back from the dead, pulling her from heaven or fix other things you don’t agree with. It's not your decision Willow.”

“But I can make things better! Fix everything!” Willow reached for her again and Tara flinched away.

“Nothing would have needed fixing if you had left it alone in the first place.” Tara shook her head. “You can’t keep ruining things and then trying to fix them.”

Willow grabbed a hold of Tara, intent on trying to make her see, make her understand, when the alpha hound growled. The sound was nearly inaudible to most of the humans, yet it was a signal to the rest of the hounds.

They circled round the two girls, standing between them and the others, facing Willow. The alpha growled again, and the air froze, everyone waiting for what would happen next. Tara was close enough to see something flare darkly in Willow’s eyes, writhing and sparking with power. She wrenched her arm out of Willow’s grip, stumbling away.

Willow raised a hand, murmuring something under her breath, something the others were too far away to hear or understand. Fear flashed in Tara’s eyes, the hounds moving closer, edging toward Willow. The air glittered with unfocused magics, the hounds bayed, Spike’s voice echoed down the street and Willow was gone.

TBC